Where Charon, gaunt and grim, his hollow bark (Fraught with departed souls, an airy crowd) Steers o'er the Stygian billow dun and dark, And with a voice of thunder bellows loud O'er the slow pool, that scarcely creeps along Through sedge, and weedy ooze: but nathless he, On the lone margent, pour'd his love-sick song, And charm'd Hell's monsters with his minstrelsy. Cocytus scowl'd,—but grinn'd a ghastly smile, Albeit unused to the relenting mood: Cerb'rus, three-mouth'd, stopp'd short,—and paused the while, Low-crouching, list'ning, (for the sounds were good) Silent his throat of flame, his eyes of fire Quench'd in ecstatic slumber, as he lay. Thus Hell's stern rulers hearken'd to his lyre, And gave the fair one back to upper day. II. Nor did Musæus, Luna's heav'nly child, And high-priest of the Graces, leave unsung The fair Antiope, in accents wild, As fell th' impassion'd language from his tongue: Who woo'd of many suitors, at the shrine Of mystic Ceres, by Eleusis' brow, Chanted the high response in strains divine,— And oped the secret springs,—and taught to know The heav'n-drawn truths, in holy rapture lost. But nought avail'd her zeal;—in evil hour, Theme of the lyre below, her hopes were cross'd: Death cropp'd the stalk, that bore so fair a flow'r. III. I tell thee too, that the Bœotian bard, Sage Hesiod, quitted the Cumæan shore, A wand'rer not unwilling,—afterward In Heliconian Ascra seen to soar, Deathless upon the mighty wings of fame. 'Twas there he woo'd Eœa, peerless maid,— And strove to achieve her love,—and with her name Prefaced his verse, with hallow'd lore inlaid. IV. Enravish'd Homer, ward of Fate from Jove, Prince of melodious numbers, toil'd his way To barren Ithaca,—and tuned, for love Of chaste Penelope, the am'rous lay; Forgot his native land, and bade adieu To wide Ionia, for the island drear, And wail'd Icarius' house, and Sparta too, And dropp'd himself the sympathetic tear. V. Mimnermus, school'd in hardship, who first taught To breathe soft airs of elegiac song, Fair Nanno ask'd, and had; and often sought, As by her side he blithely trudged along, The merry wake,—a ready piper arm'd With mouth-piece aptly fitted: and with worse Than deadly hate and indignation warm'd, Hermobius and Pherecles lash'd in verse. VI. Antimachus, for beauteous Lyda's love, Hied him to rich Pactolus' golden tide: But, well-a-day! his bliss stern Fate unwove; Short was her doom,—in Pergamus she died,—